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So far I have gotten around 7 people interested in Tavern Talk, just because I wouldn't stop talking about it.

Somehow I never realise how influential I can be at certain times.

.. oops? but hey, gentletroll if you see this.. you might as well hire me for advertisement (I am joking---)

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I was so confused at first

I continue to be delighted by Tavern Talk and was so excited (if a bit confused) to see Polly and Scott from Monster Prom show up in the tavern. What a fun crossover!

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I thought "Molly is that you"?

Thank you Tavern Talk for the hottest tboy I’ve ever seen in my life holy shit I need him

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Behold, the local Edgelord

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Top Gun - Incorrect Quote 335

Iceman: *On the phone* Love I’m breaking up

Maverick: I’m pregnant

Iceman:

Iceman: I meant the call

Maverick: Right. Sorry. I panicked

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The most stupidest thing is that you don't even have to be big to have this experience. Children's clothing already starts with this skinny bullshit.

this one’s for all the fat girls who’ve cried in dressing rooms 💗

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what is it about capybaras that attracts groups of small animals to them? Its not just mammals either its like birds and turtles and frogs too

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I took my little brother (autistic, mostly non verbal) out and he was using his voice keyboard to tell me something, and this little boy (maybe 4 or 5?) heard him and asked me "Is he a robot??" I tried to explain to him that no, he isn't a robot, he just communicates differently, but my darling brother was in the background max volume "I am robot I am robot I am robot I am robot"

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Sam(calling Bucky’s attention after a successful mission):…YOU! You are still dangerous! (he grins) You can be my wingman anytime.

Bucky: Bullshit…you can be mine.

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I haven't seen this version anywhere so I made one!

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Iceman and Maverick had homosexual feelings for each other

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You had me at Miep!!!

You had me at:

Lush cottagecore

Spellbooks

Librarian at some Great Library (alexandria? Oh no, sorry. ALYSSIUM.)

Magically sentient spider plant (the only one I haven't killed, other than my monster Aloe that is quickly gloaming my big bay window)

Local bakery

Cottage garden

Fueled by cinnamon rolls

Heal the heart, feed the soul

If this isn't the coziest of the cozies, idk what I'm gonna do...

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The real reason why our favorite green-eyed gremlin has no family besides Carole, Bradley and Goose. (WARNING, READ TAGS).

Maverick was born behind a neon-lit bar on the Lower East Side of Manhattan, sometime in 1964. His father, a traitor who went down in ‘Nam. His mother, a dancer who disappeared as quickly as she arrived, left him sitting in an alley at two years old, wearing a paisley scarf and holding a handful of pictures and papers. But the queens found him.

They were the performers of The Garden of Eve, a half-underground drag revue known for its peacock-feathered glamour, subversive laughter, and the kind of love you didn’t talk about in broad daylight. All they had was each other and now — they had a little boy to raise. Miss Ruby D’Vine was the first to pick him up. “Well hello, little love,” She said, cradling him in rhinestone-covered arms. “We didn't ask for you, but some of the best things come from the clearance rack, darling.”

By the time he was ten, Maverick could hot-roll a wig, cinch a corset, and quote lines from Mildred Pierce with frightening accuracy. His guardians — Ruby, Charis, Maude, and Auntie Legs — raised him not just to survive but to dazzle. He learned early that strength could wear false lashes and walk in six-inch heels through a thunderstorm, baby. That was how Maude came to his after-school functions, holding out her perfectly manicured hand for him to take. “Come along, Peter Pan.”

In the seventies, The Garden was more than a nightclub. It was sanctuary. It was the school of life. It was church. The queens taught Maverick everything — how to lip-sync and sew, how to stand tall when people sneered, how to throw shade that could cut and how to use glitter as both armor and gospel. They brought him to balls, they taught him how to charm his way through the doors of life.

He was sixteen the first time someone in their tight circle got sick. Miss Loretta Love started coughing backstage. “Just the flu,” She said with a painted-on smile. But she never got better. They took care of her, even as she wasted and forgot her favorite songs, forgot her dances.

They didn’t have a name for it yet — only rumors, only whispers. “Some kind of gay cancer,” The papers muttered, GRID, as if their very existence was an affliction and this was the solution. And then one by one, Maverick’s world began to vanish. Charis stopped performing and lost weight until her sequin gowns hung on her like mourning veils. Maude couldn’t hold a tune or a spoon, she went blind and then it was Maverick who buffed and painted her nails for her casket. Auntie Legs died in a hospital room alone, misgendered even on her death certificate. He screamed and hollered when they put her in a suit for the viewing. He was the only family she had left, and his mother would be buried in her best evening gown.

Maverick would sit in the dressing rooms, now quiet and haunted, staring at empty styrofoam heads. He tried to keep the club running. Ruby, who had always been the strongest, still painted on her smile but no longer performed when she couldn't cover the lesions anymore. “They’re forgetting us, Peter.” She whispered to him once, in the dark as she fought going to the ward. “Like we were never here. I'm so sorry, Peter Pan, I'm going to have go on without you.”

She found that second star and she was gone too.

But Maverick fights. He takes their lessons and carries them, even as the city turns its back. He makes flyers for memorials. He marches. He screams at politicians with no faces as he buries more friends and family than any teenager should have to. He meets the two people who are going to mean the world to him one day — at an ACT-UP march. A pair of twenty-somethings from Nowhere, Tennessee.

By the time the eighties roll in, The Garden of Eve is long shuttered, its sign rusting above boarded doors. But Maverick — no longer a boy, not yet a man — keeps a shoebox full of polaroids, press-on nails, lipstick tubes, and old ticket stubs. He calls it his inheritance.

And whenever he puts on one of Ruby’s old coats, he stands just a little taller. Because he was raised not by a village, but by a galaxy of stars, and even in grief, they taught him how to shine.

No amount of Academy rejections or Navy men bellowing in his face will ever tamp down that shine — and if he still gravitates to bar mics like the queens who raised him? Well, he's still their Peter Pan underneath this get-up.

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"You're not taking care of yourself."

"I don't see how that's your problem."

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my friends and i have been doing fanfiction book clubs… can y’all drop your favorite destiel smuts? my friend is requesting some so i’m coming to the people